Boggart This
by Bambu
Summary: In a post-war Britain, Severus Snape has returned to teaching at Hogwarts where one afternoon he has an encounter with Hermione Granger. Written for the LiveJournal community in 2011, it evolved from a one-shot to a three vignette series.
1. Boggart This

Boggart This

By Bambu

Disclaimer and Author's Note: I own none of the JKR Potterverse. In this instance, I only own the idea behind this series of vignettes and the placement and choice of the words. Written in 2011, this was initially intended to be a stand-alone one-shot, but I was talked into extending it. The linear progression jumps several months between the second vignette and the last.

~o0o~

Severus Snape looked down his hooked nose, a genetic gift from his father, and speared the errant journalist with a scathing glare. "What potions did you take?" he demanded.

Her eyelashes fluttered so hard Snape wondered whether the brainless twit had something caught in her eye.

The young woman arched her back, stretching her neck in what she assumed was an alluring posture. Snape thought she looked like an ostrich draped in a lurid green fabric more appropriate for upholstering a sofa rather than clothing a human.

She pursed her lips, and breathlessly responded, "I haven't taken anything, _Professor_."

Snape maneuvered himself behind his lectern, wanting to keep something substantial between him and the idiotic woman who'd rushed into his classroom with a bundle of parchment flailing in her luridly polished fingers. "Why does your voice sound as if Albus Dumbledore has pulled all the feathers from Fawkes' tail?"

The woman pouted, visibly disappointed by his reaction. Then, with the resilience of a Crup, her voice changed to something a bit more brisk, but the eyelids kept fluttering. "What did you think of the story? Isn't it just too, too adorable? Now everyone will know what a kind and gentle soul you have, and how you've been misunderstood all this time."

Snape recoiled, looking as if he'd just swallowed a Hippogriff ... whole. Abruptly, his wand appeared in his hand, and he swished and jabbed. "_Riddikulus!_" he shouted at the streaky blonde sporting artificially red lips.

A shudder ripped through the woman's body, and suddenly she morphed into the spitting image of a thirty-year old Harry Potter wearing pink bunny slippers and a nappy!

"Severus!" Hermione skidded to a halt in the doorframe, her eyes narrowing at the image of her best friend dressed in such an absurd manner.

Immediately, baby Harry's bottle green eyes homed in on the newest person in the room. He strode in her direction, when suddenly, like a twirling dervish his body spun, faster and faster, until his body blurred and he was no longer Harry.

Instead of where Harry had stood, the amorphous figure had split in two. Now there were two Severus Snape's in the room, but the one closest to Hermione wore Death Eater robes and blood dripped from his hands.

Hermione's face blanched.

Then her wand whipped into action. Within thirty seconds, the Boggart was dispatched into a cauldron levitated into position by Snape, and Hermione sealed the Dark creature inside.

One of Snape's eyebrows arched interrogatively, and Hermione asked, "Drink?"

His only reply was to gesture toward his office, and silently Hermione led the way. Three minutes later, she and Snape were seated on either side of his desk, sharing a fine bottle of Australian Merlot.

"Care to explain, Hermione?" Snape asked.

"It's a long story," she replied, hesitating to reveal her secret.

He smirked, and said, "We have all night."

~o0o~


	2. A Choice of Preposition

A Choice of Preposition

By Bambu

~o0o~

"More?" Snape asked, lifting the almost empty bottle of Merlot. He and Hermione had been talking for more than an hour, discussing a wide range of subjects. None of those topics related to his earlier question about her reaction to the Boggart.

In response to his question, Hermione simply held her empty glass across his desk.

Obligingly, he poured her a refill, and then leaned back in his chair to study her. Her face was flushed becomingly, her pupils slightly dilated, and her focus seemed fixed on his mouth. He thought it only gentlemanly to behave in like fashion, and he watched, fascinated, by the way she bit her lip when she was considering an answer. Her lower lip would plump on either side of her perfect front teeth.

Suddenly, he swallowed hard, unsure he wanted to hear her confirm that he was her worst fear. However, Snape wasn't a man to shirk from harsh realities, and he ran his hand through his stringy hair before raising the topic. "I would not have thought I would be your worst nightmare."

"You aren't," she replied adamantly.

His eyes narrowed, and even slightly intoxicated, he was certain she was prevaricating. "It was a Boggart, _Miss Granger_.

"I'm well aware of what it was, _Severus_. But perhaps you've forgotten something about Boggarts."

"I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts." He bit out the answer in a sharp staccato of words.

She rushed in where others feared to tread. "Don't you remember the one Molly Weasley found in Grimmauld Place? You know the one. It morphed through a progression of her dead children and Arthur?"

"I have no idea about which you are speaking. Molly Weasley – redoubtable witch that she may be – does not explain why you saw _me_ as a Death Eater with bloody hands."

Hermione's cheeks seemed to glow in the torchlight, and despite his unpredicted dismay at finding himself her worst nightmare, he was intrigued by how pretty she was when she was flustered. As if Summoned, Snape rose from his chair and rounded the corner of the massive, time-scarred desk. When he was in front of her, he dropped to his knees, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

Instinctively, his voice dropped into its lower register. "Why are you afraid of me, Hermione?"

She parted her lips and sucked in a breath of courage. "I'm not afraid _of_ you."

He started to rise in the face of her demonstrable lie, but a slender hand stayed his movement. So caught up by the sight of her fingers on his arm, Snape didn't see her lean toward him, but her breath fluttered his hair and tickled his cheek.

"The first time I encountered my Boggart, I was horrified. I didn't – couldn't believe what I saw. So, like the little know-it-all I can be, I went to the National Library. There isn't much written about Boggarts – did you know they're related to Dementors? – er… sorry. Of course you know. My point is they feed off their victim's fear."

Snape raised his head, giving her a scathing look as if to say '_Don't teach your betters to cast a spell they learned in the cradle.'_

She huffed a little, and he stiffened at her implication that he was obtuse. He was half-way to his feet when she spoke with the patience of one talking to a child. "The important thing about Molly Weasley's Boggart was that it morphed into people she was afraid _for_. There is a distinct difference."

"Is that why you came sliding into my office? You were afraid _for _me?" As Severus settled back onto his knees, his eyes sought hers. Once found, he was caught by their depth of color and expressiveness, and there was no need for Legilimency. The answer to his question, both asked and unvoiced, was writ plainly upon her flushed face. Severus' heart pounded as he understood, to the full measure, exactly what she was implying.

Still, he waited for her reply.

"I knew this one had escaped." She waved her hand toward the classroom where the captive Boggart was imprisoned. "Tonks knew it was my turn for the weekend lecture series, and she asked my help in delivering the Boggart to your class. We had just reached the first floor when she went into labor and lost control of the containment spell. I had to get her to St. Mungo's before I could retrieve the wretched Boggart. I've been searching the ruddy castle for the last three of hours. The Four Point Spell was useless."

"As you should have known it would be."

Hermione stiffened, sitting straighter in her chair.

Snape ignored her altered posture, briefly considering the inadequacies of her formative education in DADA. She had compensated remarkably well, yet on occasion, those deficiencies became apparent. With that thought in mind, he said, "You are as conscientious as ever, it seems. However, you have yet to explain your precipitous arrival at my classroom. What were you saving me from? An overzealous writer determined to lionize me?"

She bit her lip. "I ... er ... I didn't want you to have to face your worst fear ever again."

His expression changed, and he leaned back at the thought of what she would consider his worst fear. She would have had no idea that he had laid that image to rest the day the Dark Mark had evaporated from his forearm. "You thought I'd see the Dark Lord?"

She looked beyond him for a moment, but then her eyes searched his face before she gave him an answer. "I thought you might see Dumbledore."

Breath whistled past his teeth and he jolted to his feet, crossing his office in three long strides, ignoring the macabre collection of magical creatures, foe-glasses, and other Dark Arts paraphernalia used in teaching his students how to recognize and deflect malicious magic.

Snape's vision narrowed, unfocused. He had thought Dumbledore's ghost had been laid to rest.

Supporting evidence of his new, worst, and often humiliatingly realized fear – being written about by ignorant hacks and sophomoric journalists – yet, it paled in comparison to the biggest regret of his life.

He heard Hermione move before he felt her curly hair tickle his chin as she moved in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him tightly, in spite of his rigid posture.

After a moment or two, when the rushing sound in his ears receded, Severus listened to her murmur soothing, cooing words into his chest. How had his arms wrapped around her, he wondered? Without conscious volition, Snape threaded his fingers through her thick hair. If she had responded with a fraction less fervor, he would have been disgusted to find himself clinging to her in a cloyingly Hufflepuff fashion.

When Hermione raised her head to look at him, he was once again startled to see her naked emotions cross her face. She obviously cared about ... _for_ ... him. He hadn't realized it before now, nor had he known how deeply it would stir his blood.

Bending his head - he could no more have stopped himself than he could have anticipated the morning's experience - Severus feathered a kiss across her enticing lips. "Why have you never said anything?"

"I never thought I would be welcome."

His left hand cupped her honest face, his thumb caressing the smooth skin. "But you are, Hermione. You are most welcomed."

He kissed her again, this time with meaning.

~o0o~


	3. Name Calling

Name Calling

By Bambu

~o0o~

At the sound of a knock, Hermione looked up from the book she'd been reading after dinner. There, leaning against the frame of her open door was Severus Snape, dressed in monochromatic, sartorial splendor.

A wide smile lit her face. "Severus! I didn't expect to see you again until tomorrow."

She unfolded her legs and rose from the slightly faded sofa housed in the sitting room of her guest quarters. Her journey would have continued toward the wizard, but she was halted by the expression on his face and the sight of his palm extended toward her.

"Severus?"

"I have been sent—" he wore an expression of extreme distaste, "—to offer you my apologies."

A quizzical furrow creased Hermione's brow. "Apologies? To me?"

He crossed his arms and sneered. "It seems Mr. Potter heard me calling you _names_."

"I don't understand," Hermione said. "What did … when and where did he …." She closed her mouth abruptly, brown eyes narrowing with suspicion. "_How_ did he hear you?"

"During my seventh year Slytherin-Gryffindor class."

To no one's surprise, Minerva McGonagall was an excellent headmistress for the renowned Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What no one had expected, however, was that she was also an educational innovator. Within two years of assuming her duties, McGonagall had instituted a series of 'guest lectures' for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. classes. Twice a year, during the fall and summer terms, experts in their fields were invited to Hogwarts for a long weekend, during which they would meet with the respective fifth and seventh year classes.

The series was extremely popular, and it was rare for more than two lecturers to attend simultaneously; however, this term, Hogwarts was host to four: Harry Potter to speak about Defense Against the Dark Arts, Hermione Granger to discuss practical applications of Arithmancy, Bill Weasley, who offered himself as discussion material in Care of Magical Creatures, and one other whose name Hermione had recognized from her books. Phyllida Spore had spent most of her time in Greenhouse Five giving hands-on demonstrations to Herbology students.

Hermione bit her lip. "That answer is a bit non-responsive."

Severus straightened from the doorjamb and entered the sitting room. He walked with such fluid grace Hermione's pulse raced.

He stood before her before he spoke again. "I have been told to apologize for referring to you in an undignified manner."

"Undignified?" She met his dark eyes through her eyelashes, and a ripe sort of silence fell on the room, broken only by the crackle and hiss from the ubiquitous fire in the grate.

"According to Minerva, I must stop referring to you as—" he frowned for a moment, and his expression darkened, "—_a bushy-haired, buck-toothed, know-it-all._"

Hermione's pleasant reverie evaporated like an _Evanescoed_ botched potion, and she turned toward the mantel with the large gilt-framed mirror hanging above. "Harry heard you call me that?"

"Of course not!" Severus sounded outraged, and he stepped next to her, his eyes seeking and meeting hers in the mirror. "He refused to tell Minerva exactly what appellation I used. She supplied the descriptors."

"I see," Hermione said, staring back at him.

And then he turned her to face him. He stood before her tall, straight, and proud.

"Potter—" Severus sneered, "—heard me call you _beloved_."

Hermione's expression softened and she cupped his cheek, fingering the craggy lines of his face. Then, a wicked little smirk of her own played hide-and-seek with the corner of her mouth. "I see. Bushy-haired, buck-toothed, know-it-all. Beloved. Understandable mistake. They're so similar."

"Indeed." A smile curved his lips. It was fleeting, as were all his smiles, but each was precious to her. Severus bent his head, his mouth inches from hers. "Is my apology accepted, Miss Granger?"

"I would prefer you save your apology for a time you really need to give one." She rose on her tiptoes for his kiss.

One of his hands slid up her spine, her neck, his fingers spreading until they cradled her head, and he angled her head for his kiss. Reveling in the feel of his body against hers, she arched into him.

The door to her chambers slammed shut as their lips met in a hungry greeting.

After several moments, he ended the kiss with a light brush of his lips across hers.

Satisfaction laced the tone of her voice. "That was a more proper greeting."

While Severus cast non-verbal silencing and locking spells, Hermione rested her forehead against the scratchy wool of his jacket, and then balanced against the crest of one of the multitude of tiny buttons. "I know why you wanted … needed to wait for us to declare—" she spoke softly, then sighed deeply, "—but you know I loathe all this subterfuge."

They had been seeing one another secretly for many months, since the Boggart incident. None of their colleagues or friends knew their relationship was anything more than cordial. At first, they had kept silent because neither was certain it would last.

Their first date had been the night before Anna Lupin's Baby Naming Ceremony. After that, they had kept quiet because Severus worried about public censure should it become known he and Hermione were dating, especially as she was one of the witnesses in his post-war trial. It was a fact that Hermione had been a witness in most post-war trials, but her relationship with Severus was too precious for either to want any taint to mar it.

So they had waited.

Hermione felt his hand splay across the dimples of her bum before Severus yanked her flush against him. She practically purred and rolled her hips, brushing against his obvious interest.

His voice was thick with arousal when he spoke. "January first. A new year, a new life for us. It is not that I am ashamed or wish to conceal this. You know my feelings."

"Your probation ends New Year's Eve."

"And we shall be married on the first day of my life as a free man."

She leaned back, walking her fingers up his buttons until they skimmed the underside of his chin. "I'll be glad to have this secrecy behind us."

"As will I." He took her lips again in a searing, possessive kiss. His hands held her tightly against him, as if once again, he had to prove to himself that she was real, and not a Boggart or some figment of his imagination.

When he released her from the kiss, Hermione had to catch her breath. She smiled at him, and thought her eyes must be glassy from arousal. Then, lacing her fingers with his, she tugged him in the direction of the bedroom. "Just think - after the holidays, Harry can hear you call me something else, but you need never apologize for it."

"In the privacy of my own mind, you are already Mrs. Snape."

She halted her steps, and turned toward him. Her smile was brilliant. "In my own mind as well, Mr. Snape."

Her eyes settled on the pale skin of his throat. Somewhere along the way, he had untied his cravat. Now, his free hand worked on the row of buttons which held his armor together.

Finding it increasingly difficult to keep on topic, Hermione said, "I'll be having a little 'chat' with Mr. Harry Potter after the first of the year. He knows better than to browse in someone else's mind without sanction."

"Not to worry." Severus pulled her hand toward his mouth, kissing her knuckles before turning her hand over to bite the plump Mound of Venus at the base of her thumb. His lips turned up at the corners when she sucked in her breath, and he saw evidence of her arousal through the thin silk of her blouse. "I have left Mr. Potter with a reminder not to tread where he is unwelcome."

"Oh?" She retrieved his hand, and once it was open, she pressed her lips to his palm before licking it. The look in his eyes intensified, and she shivered with expectancy.

"Something I concocted for eavesdroppers." His voice clung to her spine like liquid fire.

"Do I want to know?" Her hands smoothed up the placket of his shirt and began to free its buttons of their daily prison. As his chest was revealed, she kissed the pale skin, inhaling deeply, and then nuzzled her nose in the crisp hair she found there.

Severus backed her to the edge of her bed. "Probably not," he said, before suckling on the tender spot of her neck.

She knew he had marked her, and her laughter rang out, a light, joyous sound, even as they tumbled onto the bed.

"Three weeks is too long." Hermione sat up, and in one swift move, pulled off the burgundy-colored jumper she wore.

While her arms were raised, Severus took advantage. Capturing her arms above her head, he held them in place. His mouth latched onto her silk covered nipple.

"Ahhh!" she cried, her head falling back with the intensity of the stimulation. "I hate … when you're … on duty … Hogsmeade weekends."

His rich, melodious chuckle filled the room.

Hermione tugged her arms from his grasp. For the moment, undressing was immaterial, but when she regained some of her composure, she remembered to flick her nail across the tiny peak of his flat, male nipple. He groaned in response, and a wicked grin spread on Hermione's face.

Suddenly, all Gryffindor forwardness, she lurched and twisted, sending Severus backward onto the winter-weight duvet. Within a minute, she had pulled her wand from the intricate braid of her hair, cast a spell, contorted her body as her clothing was stripped, and was straddling his hips with her hands pressed flat against his chest.

As Rapunzel let down her hair from a lofty tower, so did Hermione's hair hang in a heavy plait from the nape of her neck, its end coming to rest on Severus' right pectoral.

Their eyes met even as he began to unbraid her hair, and she rocked gently against the tumescence of his erection, anticipation lubricating her path.

"I love you," she said, and then leaned forward to kiss him.

The kiss was as tender as any they had shared, and Severus' hands took on another task. The fingers of one hand threaded through Hermione's hair while the other skimmed the sleek contours of her back, gliding across her smooth skin until he gripped her hip. Then, with ease born of practice, he sheathed himself within her depths in a single, decisive thrust.

"Yes," Severus hissed, both hands now guiding her hips in a primal rhythm unique to them.

Angling herself up, Hermione scraped her nails across his chest, hard enough to mark him, but not hard enough to break the skin.

"Minx," he said, almost growling.

She trilled a laugh which broke off in a moan.

All the years teaching Potions, handling delicate ingredients, had left him with deft, sure hands. His long fingers were equally facile as they slid between their bodies.

Her moan lengthened into a long, drawn out wail as Severus bucked upward. When his knuckles pinched, her eyes almost rolled back in her head from the intense jolt of stimulation. Her pleasure rose like a tide, ready to wash over her at any moment. She leaned forward, writhing atop him like a succubus.

He smirked before taking her mouth in a branding kiss.

Prickles of incipient orgasm spread throughout her body, her nipples so tightly furled they ached, and she rubbed them against the hair on his chest, seeking friction. Hermione's breath grew short, and she felt him do … something … with his knuckles just before her world exploded in a scintillating array of light and feeling.

His name tumbled from her lips in a prayer.

Barely able to remember her name, Hermione retained enough thought to nip the skin below his ear, hard enough to bruise. With a roar and a reflexive tightening of his hold on her, Severus' climax was powerful and explosive.

They shuddered and convulsed - each to the beat of their own release, and together in concert of their shared coupling.

Hermione draped across Severus, her breath nothing more than ragged inhalations. She smiled into his neck before licking the salty sweat from his skin. He rumbled deep in his chest, and she felt the vibration through her body.

His arms tightened around her, and for several moments, they allowed the elemental rhythm of their heartbeats to lull them into a light doze. When the chill in the air became noticeable, Hermione felt Severus shift her to his side, and then his arm reached across her. A soft incantation later, a gentle cleansing charm was applied to their bodies.

She snuggled closer to him.

Then, as sleep claimed her, she felt his lips press against her hair, and heard the murmur of his voice. "Beloved."

~o0o~


End file.
